by JD Nixon
“Yum,” he declared when he finished, taking his plate to the sink and washing it up. The kid had been well trained. When he turned back, remorse was stamped all over his features.
“What’s the matter, Niq? Is something bothering you?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes growing misty. “You’re so nice to me and I love you a lot, Tilly. But I’ve done something bad and it’s been bothering me ever since.”
Dread filled my heart. “What have you done, sweetie? I’m sure we can sort it out.”
His face crumpled. “You’ll be angry with me. You won’t like me anymore.”
I jumped up to cuddle him. “I’ll always only not just like you, I’ll always love you. Now, what’s the matter?”
“What you said the other day about Heller probably eventually dumping you – I don’t want that to happen. I just want you two to be together forever.”
“Like I said, sweetie. Sometimes relationships don’t go the way you want them to.”
He looked at me with big, moist, remorseful eyes. “The other day when we went to the shopping centre and I was with you in your flat all night, when you were in the bathroom, I put some of that potion in your wine.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong. I’ve been so worried you’d have a reaction or something. I haven’t slept or eaten since. I drugged you, Tilly. You might have died. I know you were drugged before and nearly died.” He started crying.
I hugged him to my breast and smoothed down his hair, ruining his locks. For once he didn’t complain. “Oh, hey, hey. It’s okay, Niq darling. You can see I’m fine.” Well, mostly, I thought. Heller hadn’t been in a gentle mood last night.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.
“Niq, how many drops did you put in my wine?”
“Ten, like the instructions said. I carefully read the instructions, honestly.”
“I believe you, sweetie. But how did you find the vial? I hid it where nobody would look.”
“I was hungry. I found it in one of your kitchen cupboards.”
I took his chin in my hand. “You did something you must never do again, because it’s wrong. But it’s good that you recognise that. And in the end, it’s turned out all right. I had some weird experiences yesterday that you’ve helped to explain.
He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
I laughed gently. “We’ll just mark this up as another adventure for me, shall we?”
He peeked up at me through his fringe. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Now, go on with you. Off to the office. You promised Heller you’d catch up with your schoolwork, so you better make sure you do. He won’t forget.”
“No, he won’t.” At the door, he turned to ask, “Are you going to tell Heller?”
“No way. You didn’t tell on me for the driving incident the other day, so I’m not going to tell on you now. What’s done is done.”
“What’s done is done,” he echoed, a faint smile on his lips. He looked down at his new (and very expensive) shoes then up at me. “I love you, Tilly. Please never leave here.”
“I love you too, sweetie. I don’t want to leave, ever.”
His smile grew a little stronger. I heard his steps growing fainter as he ran down the stairs. My first action was to ring Liya again.
“Make sure you watch over Meredith closely. She has genuine skills and that makes her dangerous,” is all I said before I hung up and busied myself for another day’s work.
Despite running rather late and hoping that the tolerance I’d experienced from Trent and Brady yesterday would linger on to today, I took a detour to Heller’s office before I drove to work. I needed to test something before I went out in public.
“My sweet,” he greeted when he spotted me. “Are you on your way to work?”
“Yes.” I kissed his forehead and stood there looking down at him. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you feeling anything?”
“I’m feeling confused about what you’re asking me.”
I whacked his shoulder. “Are you feeling an overwhelming attraction to me?”
“Ever since I laid eyes on you.”
I whacked him again. “More than normal. Like yesterday.”
“I wanted to ask you about that. It all seems rather a blur to me when I try to remember. What happened? I know I didn’t drink anything.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You women are such mysterious creatures.”
“God, look who’s talking. Could you be any more mysterious?”
He pulled me down onto his lap. “You know everything there is to know about my body at least.”
“I certainly do. And I sure received a triple dose of it last night.”
He smirked. “I would rate that as an outstanding performance.”
“Bragger. Forget outstanding, I could barely stand when I got out of bed.”
“Ah, the sign of a good night.” He tipped me backwards until I was forced to cling to his neck to prevent falling off his lap and kissed me.
Daniel came in. “Heller, I just . . . oh God! Do you two ever stop?”
I looked at him from upside down. “Never.”
Heller tipped me further down, so my hair dangled on the carpet and my legs waved in the air. The blood rushed to my head and I giggled like crazy, always enjoying the rare moments he was playful like this.
“I’ll be late for work,” I protested. “I have to organise a foot-in-the-door story for Trent.”
He hauled me upright again. “I don’t know what means.”
“Of course you don’t.” I struggled to get off his lap. “But maybe I’ll be the mysterious one this time and leave without telling you.”
“You’ve always been a complete mystery to me, Matilda.”
I tried to think of a witty comeback, but my brain blanked on me. So I just blew him a raspberry and on that dignified tone, I left.
I entered the station cautiously, smiling nicely at the two meatheads, ready to bless them with some of my small talk.
“What are you looking at?” Meathead Two snarled at me.
“I don’t know. I can’t work it out,” I snapped back, pleased that things were back to normal, but a little stung by the sudden reversal of attitude. I mean, just yesterday he wanted to give me extra gravy!
He raised his middle finger at me and that warmed my heart and planted a smile on my face.
The potion’s effects were definitely over.
Chapter 24
Trent raised his eyebrows and checked his watch when I rushed in. “Oh, so you do still work here?”
“Hey, I was here yesterday,” I said indignantly.
Puzzlement creased his face. “Were you? For some reason, I’m having trouble quite remembering yesterday.”
“It’s better that way, believe me.” And leaving him standing there, confused, I scurried to my desk to start working.
He came over and leaned on my chair. “I want to film that off-set story tomorrow. Find me some shoddy tradesman we can ambush on camera, but not anyone too big or intimidating. I don’t want to get my arse busted.”
“The Fearsome Truthseeker, huh? No story too dangerous for Trent Dawson?”
He preened his hair. “Just thinking of my fans. They’d miss me if anything happened to me.”
“You have fans?”
“Yes, I do, smartarse. And just remember what happened when I was away from the show after that maniac attacked us.”
“The ratings went up, didn’t they?”
He clipped me lightly across the back of the head. “Just find me a dodgy, but wimpy, tradie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hear that, everyone?” he shouted out to the office. “Tilly calls me ‘sir’ because she respects me.”
Everyone, including me, and eventually Trent as well, laughed heartily at that and then go
t on with their work. I spent the day flicking through news stories and the emails we received from viewers, looking for the perfect story to showcase Trent’s street cred.
At the end of the day, I poked my head into his office. “How about a shonky mechanic ripping off his female customers with overinflated prices and poor quality replacement parts?”
“Yes! Perfect,” he grinned. “Is he big?”
“I looked up his website. He looks weedy enough for even you to take on.”
“Watch it, girl. We’ll arrange it all tomorrow. I can’t wait to do a story out of the studio. That’ll show all those other stations what real journalism is about.”
“As long as it’s not dangerous at all.”
“Naturally. I don’t have a death wish.” He stood. “And speaking of that, and thinking of Brady, let’s go to the studio. I want to get ready for the show tonight.”
Brady wasn’t going to ask me out for drinks tonight, glowering at me from under his jutting brows every second we were in the studio together. I was obviously back at the top of his shit list, no longer one of the contacts in his little black book, if he even knew enough women to have such a thing in his possession.
After work, I hung out with Daniel and Niq for the rest of the evening, forcing them to make me dinner (with free food from Heller’s pantry). And though I fell asleep in his bed, Heller woke me up later for some intimate time.
Afterwards, I sprawled on his chest, contented and rather exhausted.
“Matilda, I have a meeting tomorrow with a potential new client.”
“That’s good news. The more, the merrier.”
“This one’s female.”
“That’s even better. You’ve always wanted to attract more female clients. What’s her business?”
“Software development. She suspects some internal espionage is happening because her competitors always seem to know about her new planned releases. She wants some surveillance installed, particularly on a couple of key staff members’ computers.”
“Can’t blame her, but gee, I wouldn’t like a boss doing that to me.” I shot him a sharp glance. “You haven’t done that to me, have you?”
“No, my sweet. Whatever you’re emailing or viewing on the internet is your own private business.”
“Sure,” I scoffed, not knowing whether to believe him or not. He looked up at the ceiling for a while in thoughtful silence. “I think it might help close the contract if I entertained her. I received the impression from our phone calls that she’d be receptive to that kind of extra attention.”
“What do you mean? What kind of extra attention?”
He turned on his side and regarded me, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “Pleased her. Spent the night with her.”
I flung his hand off my face and sat up, unable to speak, my hand clutching my throat as if to coax down the clogging lump that had suddenly appeared in it. “You want to sleep with her?” I eventually managed to spit out.
“I don’t necessarily want to, but I think I should. It might end up bringing in some very lucrative ongoing surveillance work from her company.”
“You don’t have to sleep with clients in order to run a good business, Heller. Millions of people around the world run successful businesses every single day without feeling the need to fuck their clients.”
“Matilda, your language, please. I’m not doing it for my own gratification.”
“Don’t you have any faith in your ability to bring in clients otherwise?”
He sighed with patronising patience. “Of course I do, but this could help seal the deal much more quickly. It makes good business sense. It will be a very profitable contract. Good for the business. Good for all of us.”
“Fuck the fucking business!” I shot out of bed, avoiding his restraining arm, scrabbling for my clothes. “What about us?”
“What do you mean?”
“Us! You and me! This!” I waved my hand at his bed.
“We will still have this. Why wouldn’t we?”
“No, we fucking well won’t if you do this! Are you insane? If you think for one second I’ll hang around waiting every night for you while you’re off fucking other women –”
“Matilda, please mind your language. There’s no need to be so crude. And you’re exaggerating. I’m only talking about one night and one woman, not multiples.”
“Fuck you, Heller! Just . . . fuck you! Go off and do what you want. You’re going to anyway. Who cares about our relationship? Obviously not you!”
I stormed out of his flat, kicking every piece of furniture in my way and slamming the door, already crying my eyes out. I didn’t even care about the cameras or that all the men would see me so upset. I locked the door to my flat and wedged a chair under the doorknob so nobody could come in. I slunk on my lounge staring at the floor in . . . I couldn’t even find a word for the emotion I currently experienced. It felt as though my heart was being torn apart into at least five pieces.
The door handle rattled violently. “Matilda, let me in.”
I slinked over to the door and switched off the light, so my flat was in darkness. I leaned my back against the wall in total silence, listening to the increasingly impatient rattling. I couldn’t speak to him right now. I couldn’t even look at him.
He grew angry at my unresponsiveness. He kicked at the door. “Matilda! I know you’re in there. Let me in now! I’ll break this door down if I have to.” That was a big call, because he’d had it reinforced when it had to be replaced after the whole Vanessa incident.
I flattened myself up against the wall some more, tears streaming down my cheeks. He kicked at the door, each time more forcefully. I debated if I should go to the kitchen to arm myself with a knife in case he managed to break the door down. But at that moment I heard a soft voice and then a couple of soft voices.
There was a gentle knock on my door. “Tilly, it’s me,” Daniel said. I jammed my eyes shut on my tears, but didn’t answer. “Tilly? You’ve always been there for me when I’ve needed someone. Let me be there for you tonight.”
He killed me with those tender words, but I didn’t move or speak. Sometimes a person just needed to retreat into themselves for a while. Some hurts were too painful to share with another person.
Another soft conversation took place.
“Let her be for the present,” I heard Daniel say.
“No! I want to talk to her. Now.”
“Heller!” And that was probably the first time I had ever heard Daniel becoming sharp or angry with him. “Let her be. Whatever you’ve done or said is enough for now. Go back to your place. Give Tilly some space.”
When Heller spoke, he sounded a little broken. “My dearest boy. It’s bad enough when Matilda shouts at me. But you now speak to me like this too?”
Daniel sounded miserable in response. “Yes, I do. Maybe it’s the right time for me to put aside my problems and help someone else with theirs. I don’t know what you did or said to her, but you seem to have hurt her badly.”
“I had no intention . . .”
“Maybe you should have thought about whatever you said or did first.”
“I didn’t realise she would take it that way.”
“For a smart man, you don’t seem to realise a lot of things, Heller. Just let her be by herself for now. I hope you can talk about it and sort it all out tomorrow.”
Heller’s heavy, slow step sounded up the stairs and the soft click of Daniel’s door let me know I was alone. I didn’t sleep well for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Heller being with someone else tomorrow night. This surely spelt the end of our relationship. Crushing wretchedness washed over me. I’d known from the start that being with him was always going to be a risky venture, with a high probability I’d have my heart broken. But to not even be able to hold his interest for a few months devastated me, cutting viciously deep into my self-esteem.
The next morning I slipped down to my car without interacting with
anyone. I parked my car at the station carpark, not remembering even one small part of the journey there. I plodded blindly to my desk, so wrapped up in my own misery, I didn’t spare my surroundings any attention at all. Trent had to repeat himself each time he asked me a question, growing frustrated by my inattentiveness.
A couple of hours later, we were out of the office on our way to film the foot-in-the-door dodgy mechanic story. Trent brimmed with excitement as I drove there, a microphone in his hand and his shoulder twitching to ram his way into any workshop with inflated prices and shoddy service. He’d mentally donned his favourite superhero persona, ‘the Battlers’ Avenger’, heroically sticking up for ripped-off consumers across the nation. It was how he’d built a name for himself, making his the most watched current affairs show on television.
But the whole excursion didn’t quite go to plan, which is how we found ourselves in a tricky predicament.
“Tilly!” Trent hissed at me in irritation. “I specifically asked you to make sure that this guy would be a pushover. Does he look like a pushover to you?”
We attempted to keep a workbench between us and an extremely large, pissed off tattooed bald man who brandished a king-sized wrench at us with terrifying ferocity.
Embarrassed, not to mention somewhat alarmed at that moment, I knew my despairing inattention had caused the screw-up. I’d jotted down the wrong address for the skinny-chested, asthmatic mechanic I’d carefully chosen for Trent to intimidate with his renowned aggressive interviewing style. Instead, we’d ended up with the Incredible Bulk on the other side of the workbench trying to kill us. He hadn’t appreciated his workshop being invaded and had been less than thrilled with Trent’s hostile accusations that he’d been swindling his customers. But mostly, he was enraged by the presence of the camera, as you would be if you ran an illegal chop shop, as he did.
The cameraman cowered in the corner, possibly weeping, his camera smashed into pieces and strewn across the workshop floor. The sound guy had done a runner at the first sign of trouble, and Trent and I were trapped on one side of a cluttered workbench, hoping like hell that the Incredible Bulk (IB) had a bad aim as he readied himself to peg the wrench at one of us.